


Rose Growing Thorns

by elwing_alcyone



Category: The Owl Service - Alan Garner
Genre: Consent Issues, F/M, Fingering, Mythology - Freeform, Unromantic, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-08
Updated: 2009-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-20 11:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwing_alcyone/pseuds/elwing_alcyone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwyn comes into Alison's room uninvited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rose Growing Thorns

"What are you doing in my room?"

"Just tidying up, Miss Alison."

"Stop it. If Mummy knew you were in here – "

"Go and tell her, then."

"Gwyn."

"I just want to see you."

"All right." She switched the lights off again, in case anyone outside was looking in, and so she wouldn’t have to see him. "Look, I really – "

He kissed her and she hit the door backing away.

"Quiet," he said.

The room was hot and airless, hardly a breath of wind from the river, and the darkness felt like a snare. This time she kissed him, so she could keep her eyes closed.

The old door rattled on its hinges when he pressed against her. Alison kept trying to stop leaning on it but he had her pinned, and when she finally got him to move, she didn't like the feeling that he had let her. She didn't see why she should worry about making noise when he didn’t care.

He made her feel the pressure inside, the way she'd felt tracing the plates. She had to do something or she'd explode.

"It's too hot," she said, pulling her mouth from his. "Gwyn, I'm too hot."

His answer was to slide her shirt up, exposing her belly and hips, but the air was no relief. His skin, too, was hot against hers, burning; she could see him through her closed eyelids. His hands were deft and clever unbuttoning her blouse. His hips pressed against hers insistently, demanding, demanding even what he knew she'd give willingly.

She wanted to feel at ease with him but she never could. He expected too much, made her ashamed and uncomfortable. Kissing him was like a struggle. When they reached the bed she didn't want him on top of her, his weight bearing down on her, but she didn't know how to make him do otherwise.

She pulled his shirt off him, too hot to bear the feeling of cloth against her skin. The pressure was building. Not pleasure – not only pleasure. How could she want him and not at the same time?

He reached his hand between them, rubbing her clitoris, sliding in and out of her and spreading the slickness about. She had always loved watching his clever hands, doing anything really, but maybe she had been thinking about this all along.

She felt those hands knowing her inside and out, as if he had the right, and she dragged her nails down his back in place of speaking, harder, _harder_. She wanted to give voice to her frustration, but they had to be silent. She scratched him furiously, hoping it hurt and he could feel her trying to escape even as she locked her ankles around him. Not like _this_ , not in this stifling heat with his light dazzling her eyes, his touch burning, claiming her.

His hand was still moving, relentless, drawing the pleasure out of her until she opened her eyes, her head thrown back, and she could see in the dark. The building pressure collapsed, bursting through her with her orgasm. Outside the window a night bird screamed. Something was dying.

She pushed Gwyn off after a moment. The heat was abominable. A pillow fell from the bed and burst, down feathers filling the air, sticking to the sweat on her skin. They clung to her hands when she tried to brush them away.

It was his fault. She could be out there on that open mountainside.

"Get out of my room," she said, trying to get the feathers off her and clear them away at the same time.

"Alison."

"Go away, Gwyn."

"Let me help you."

"Go away."

"I'll wait for you again in the garden tomorrow. Will you be there?"

"I don't know."

Half an hour ago it would have been no, but the ambivalence he'd won wasn't good enough for him either. Nothing less than all of her would be good enough. She didn't watch him put his clothes back on and stump out.

She thought she knew how it had felt now: trapped behind walls, glaze, feathers in that suffocating attic, scratching at the boards to get free.


End file.
